


Seasons of Self

by Kenobiyoyo (Tinytrex)



Category: Glass (2019), Split (2016)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 22:58:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17734253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinytrex/pseuds/Kenobiyoyo
Summary: Kevin is broken, but that doesn't make his pieces any less extraordinary.Just a snapshot of Kevin's alters.Originally posted on Tumblr under destroythetoy





	1. The Dawning

Kevini is shoulders hunched beneath casual t-shirts and hands in worn jean pockets. He’s fidgety fingers hesitant to touch but always on the move. He’s awestruck looks in guileless eyes and shy smiles soaked in sadness. He’s strangled words scrawled in gasping ink looking for their place. He’s the body curled desperately against another, hoping a whisper of affection will be enough.

Kevin is the stillness in the air at summer’s edge waiting for the sunshine but preparing for the storm.


	2. The Champion

Dennis is cold metal, hard plastic, and no nonsense in between. He’s collared shirts and utilitarian gray slacks made of stain-resistant cloth. He’s the burning scent of bleach, the gleaming shine of wax, and the stiff starch of linen. He’s calloused fingers moving with confidence; trying so hard to protect, trying so hard to be good. He’s penetrating stares that see dreams in soft vulnerable skin and reality in unyielding iron. He’s broken pieces being held together with scarred skin. He’s the deadbolt and the peephole; the protector and spectator.

Dennis is a biting winter night under a clear sky.


	3. The High Priestess

Patricia is reserved tea-length skirts, strangling sweaters, and feminine fabric draped across relaxed shoulders. She’s devoutness, deep and dark, with a splinter of longing staining the edges in doubt. She’s sweet smiles hiding sharp teeth. She’s a yearning warmth tainted by reality and hardened by solitude. She’s lilting tones, soft bedtime songs, and soothing brush strokes. She’s unyielding with a fragile core.

Patricia is summer twilight, heat suffocating yet soothed by a gentle breeze.


	4. The Innocent

Hedwig is colorful track suits and white sneakers made for dancing. He’s big curious eyes, big mischievous smiles, and big howling laughs. He’s incessant energy bouncing on his toes and distracted stares jumping from motion to motion. He’s playful innocence with an imagination larger than his dreams and leather thick skin from broken promises. He's what should've been, what almost was, what can never be. He’s hopeful naivety cruelly steeped in reality.

Hedwigis the etheral spring breeze that can bite or play depending on the trees.


	5. The Magician

Barry is warm scarves and cool metal draped against peeking skin. He’s comfortable chic with a dash of daring and a wink of whimsy. He sees in rose with an iron edge, has ink-stained fingerprints dazzled in shades, and promises easy conversations with hidden depths. He’s casual touches, confident glances, and comforting arms locked around sleeping bodies.

Barry is the colors of autumn and the comfort of hot cider.


	6. The Spark

Jade is black tube tops, hot pink lipstick, and vibrant blue eyeshadow. She’s a flirty smile with a wicked edge. She’s passion, burning and smoking and instant. She’s a teasing brow above a flinty stare. She’s honesty in its realest form, dark and light and shaded grays. She is adrenaline rushing films, heart pounding music, and the sweet burn of liquor.

Jade is summer’s zenith, blindingly bright and drenching the earth in fire.


	7. The Archivist

Orwell is knit sweaters and tweed jackets. He's a gaze lost in ancient pages and wire-rimmed glasses sliding low. He's coffee stains and a furrowed brow. He's oblivious to the day and belatedly attentive to every moment. He's a preacher for broken patterns with a deep held prayer in new ones. He's an ever growing stack of books teetering precariously on the bedside table.

Orwell is a gentle winter's snow beside a fireplace.


	8. The Lady

Norma is bluebell dresses and apricot lipstick. She's honeyed afternoon tea and charming smiles beneath ornate hats. She's orthodox steps taken with grace and poise. She's soil beneath polished nails and garden shears held with confidence in delicate hands. She's lessons learned in a time long past. She's roots that dig deep and vines that climb high.

Norma is the blooms awakening in spring


	9. The Scientist

Rakel is white blouses and a head tilt. She's comfort in facts, tranquility in numbers, and serenity in reason. She's confident and curious, Galileo's disciple. She's hope 2 + 2 can define the past and Sodium + Chloride can heal the soul. She's instructions followed to the letter, unless acting on a trial. She's feet planted firmly on the ground.

Rakel is the day of simple sunshine with far off clouds, timeless and magnificent in it's routine.


	10. The Gourmet

Goddard is a sunflower apron and arms lined with virtuous scars. He’s fingers sliced with tomato rich knives and burns along arms from flame grilled steaks and oatmeal cookies. He’s a hip motion from cutting board to oven and a two-step twirl to stove. He’s chop, chop, chop with echoing steps and the sizzle of a rumbling laugh.

Goddard is summer barbeques by the pool with laughter and music entwined.


	11. The Artist

Bernice is paint splattered jeans and rolled up sweaters. She's lips slipping between languages and gestures bridging both. She's warm baths in candlelight and dyed canvas at dawn. She's love without lust and affectionate fingers on arms. She's little moments made eternal in brush strokes.

Bernice is a spring evening, the world glowing in moonlight.


	12. The Candid

Luke is a well-worn jacket made of more patches than leather and an easy-going grin. He's line dance missteps and cackling at horror movies. He's carefree in his obliviousness and secure in his faults. He's an endless stream of secrets, observations, and nonsense jokes shared over an glass of ginger ale.

Luke is the persistent patter of rain during a monsoon.


	13. The Alluring

Polly is short flowy dresses beneath unbutton vests. She's confidence and desire and a knowing gaze. She's teasing tracings up willing arms and patient words for hesitant hearts. She's sensual touches, satisfied sighs, and breathless chuckles. She's chocolate strawberries and pink champagne.

Polly is the silk touch of a gentle rain in spring.


	14. The Naturalist

Ansel is hiking boots double knotted and shoulders bathed in peace. He's a soundless shadow with eyes tracing veins of green and reading hues of earth. He's muted statements and loquacious gestures. He's doubt and fear surrounded by steel and deep breaths and tranquility among fauna.

Ansel is the hush of the leaves as they begin to fall.


	15. The Dreamer

Felicia is long sleeved flower dresses and perfectly round glasses. She’s murmurs and squeaks and fingers clenched tightly together. She’s sheepish smiles and giggles hidden behind hands. She’s eccentric worlds and eclectic adventures whispered at night. She’s phantasms on dragons, wands between lightning bolts, and the ticking time of a hurried rabbit all hidden in downturn eyes.

Felicia is the tentative coming of fall, where the weather holds to summer but the leaves whisper of another world.


	16. The Daring

Jalin is striped shirts, red tees, and torn jeans. He's an experiment on gravity and a cynic of inertia. He's pulleys and levers and the chaos of impulse. He's laughter at challenge and skin dyed blue with adventure. He's breaths torn from chest, heart stuck in throat, and the research of disaster. He's arms thrown wide and a grin from ear to ear.

Jalin is the wild thunderstorm that destroys, creates, and realigns along the way.


	17. The Fragile

Kat is jaw locked and a straighten shirt. She's narrowed eyes and tightened shoulders. She's claws and teeth aimed at the throat. She's action first; to hurt, to scare, to repel. She's tears dried long ago and lips with no turn. She's ice in veins and half-moons in palms. She's silent nodding at brutality and cold disbelief at mercy.

Kat is midnight on a new moon when the darkness is deepest and the light is an eternity away.


	18. The Masochist

Samuel is clothes thrown on and shoes too tight. He's friendly smiles with a yearning air. He's playful jokes and hard swallows at slit skin. He's aching sighs at battered flesh and easing words at clashes. He's guilt at delight but unable to stop. He's wanting and desperate and twistedly hopeful.

Samuel is stinging hail, stuck between the softness of snow and the harshness of rain.


	19. The Romantic

Heinrich is a red rose in a buttonhole and a silver pocket square. He’s shoulders back and Harlequin paperbacks. He’s confidence with theory but absent of experience. He’s too much, too fast, and not enough. He’s declarations with misplaced intentions and hollow gestures neglecting simple sincerity.

Heinrich is the heat wave in winter; out of place to all but itself.


	20. The Hierophant

Mr. Pritchard is bowties and thoughtful nods. He's a yellow handkerchief, a monster lizard toy, and a red camellia engraved on a locket. He's the left side of up and the thrill of debate. He's meaning in scenes, feeling in colors, and the wonder in classics. He's little gestures of caring and warm pats of praise.

Mr. Pritchard is the moments at dusk when the sky is ablaze and the world is limitless.


	21. The Survivor

B. T. is oversized hoodies and chin held too high. He’s the scent of smoke and bruises on knuckles. He’s bad habits formed from good intentions. He’s what must be done with a single trembling breath. He’s a survivor of shadowed corners and a lord of the thoroughfare. He’s tender moments held with reverence and clever episodes pronounced with pride.

B. T. is a blizzard, cold and dangerous but necessary for the winter wonderland.


	22. The Gemini

Mary Reynolds and Ian exist hand in hand, wearing blues and yellows and even reds. She's bright and rolling eyes. He's invisible with dancing fingers. He's whispered words and meaning. She's loose lips with bite. He's melodies and she's cacophonies. She's confidence and he's uncertainties. They pull and push and bicker and fight. They're secrets shared between one another and strength in numbers. He's yin, she's yang, they're whole.

Ian and Mary Reynolds are the equinox, refusing to forsake the other.


	23. The Divine

The Beast is miracles etched in skin and nobility in his veins. He's copper on the tongue, worship in his eyes, and scars with known secrets. He's the strength that steals breaths and the teeth that take communion. He's reverent tears at purity and exaltation at strength. He's knowing those thought less are more while those thought most are nothing. He's the diety of the broken and the avenger of pain.

The Beast is a tornado ripping through the plains, destroying all but the most enlightened.


End file.
